


goodbye (don't listen when i scream)

by Ara (WalkUnseen)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Ep 69 spoilers, Here we go, I Am Still Hurting, Mind Control, Not how this spell works probably but, Oban (Critical Role) - Freeform, Unreliable Narrator, Yasha isnt here right now, or is she, some mild depictions of violence and blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-29 13:36:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19401388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WalkUnseen/pseuds/Ara
Summary: Ep. 69 SpoilersThe falchion carves up the fiend's spine with a spray of blood and the tearing of meat. The choked sound he makes sticks in her ears where she's stuck at the foot of the steps. Yellow eyes-- those candle-flickering, alluring eyes-- eyes that bore right into her as his wings go slack, mouth moving, abyssal growled out in one last breath as he goes limp."Avenge me."





	goodbye (don't listen when i scream)

**Author's Note:**

> title from: 
> 
> Goodbye by Aparet and Soap&Skin
> 
> "Fold down your hands  
> Give me a sign  
> Put down your lies  
> Lay down next to me  
> Don't listen when I scream  
> Bury your doubts and fall asleep  
> Find out, I was just a bad dream."

The falchion carves up the fiend's spine with a spray of blood and the tearing of meat. The choked sound he makes sticks in her ears where she's stuck at the foot of the steps. Yellow eyes-- those candle-flickering, alluring eyes-- eyes that bore right into her as his wings go slack, mouth moving, abyssal growled out in one last breath as he goes limp. 

_"Avenge me."_

A slice of heat shoots up her spine like the slide of a sword through her back and she goes rigid, the Skin-Gorger falling slack in her grip.

It's like fire. 

Like all the spells she ever saw Caleb-- Ca-- _someone_ \-- that dirty, gruffed image of a flame-haired stranger sling have nestled at the base of her skull, and creeped up in a spidery hunger of searing limbs over her scalp and into her. Into every inch, every nerve, every pore, pulsing, hungry; as she stares at the unblinking yellow. The jaundiced, putrid, disgustingly... familiar eyes-- a friend, _her friend_ And he turns into sludge and nothing at the foot of the tomb. 

That magma slips down to her fingertips, tears through her like a forest fire, up and up, leaping into the boughs to crackle and crouch. Clenched between her teeth as she curls her lip, hoists her blade, and turns her gaze to his murderers. 

To the goblin, with eyes, the same shade of yellow, but sickening-- she had a hand in this, in the bubbling festering mess he's become. To the half-orc, eyes a violent gold as well-- but it's not the right color, they're nothing like his eyes. So deep, and rich, and they were always there; when he picked her up out of the dirt, pressed the hilt of a sword into her fist and told her vengeance was all she needed. 

**Avenge me.**

She shouts, a yell tearing from her like the snarls of the hounds the abberaration has called to serve him. She slices into them, his murderers, feels blood splatter her, hot and sliding down her cheeks, down her chin, the bite of iron heavy on her tongue, eyes wet. She's sure it's just the rage, not the thud of her heart against her ribs like it's trying to break free as she swings at the tiny creature on the steps. It's not the small voice, that tremoring, fracturing thing that screams under the roar of the flames billowing up into her throat.

The tiny thing, It doesn't run at first, it presses a flower into her hand like it's ichor hasn't trickled down the hilt of her blade to run in the creases of her palm. It flees from her with one last look, like longing, and there's a flicker in her head, like she's seen a smile curl her lips before, like she's heard her laugh-- 

'A̴̞͛v̴͙͌ę̴͉̾n̷̤͠g̶̥̏e̸̜͍̾ ̷͍̜͘m̴͎̕e̴͍̺͗.'

She crushes the petals in her fist, and watches one of his murderers go. 

She blinks, and it's another of them, and another, and then a burst of flames and she barrels through them, after them, they killed him-- they took him away from her.

"Why?"

And then it's a half-orc, bloodied, glaring at her, near dead in the Hand's grasp as she swings down at him for a finishing blow-- _Fjord, his name is Fjord-- his name is Fjord-- his name is--_

Her swing goes wide, and the half-orc blinks at her, red slicking his skin and shining like a warning.

_"I heard you."_

It leaves her before she can stop it. And it is her, but it isn't-- it isn't-- it is--

Her skull feels near to splitting and she tightens her hold on her blade's hilt so hard her knuckles threaten to split. To spill out that resurgence of flame licking back up, burning the back of her neck, like fingers curled across it and holding firm. 

_His name is Fjord. His name is Fj-- H̷̭̃́e̵͔̳͑̾ ̷̩̲͙͐̈́i̴̡̩̼̅́s̸̲͕̒-̴̥͊-̷̹͙͒̍_

**Murderer.**

Ȃ̴̛̗̬̱̥͚̀͗͑̆͗͊̽̾͋͜͠v̸̻̯̹̤̹͌̀͒̀̌͋̈́͝ę̷̡̞͇̩̥͍̇̌̓̆͌̐̕ǹ̸̨͉̬͖̲̗̙̝̦̼̗̓̈́̏͒̕͜͝g̵͍̠̱̲̱͌̅̚ͅe̸̛̥̥̥͍͙̟̮͓͖͖͙̒̋̏̑̀̀͐̆ ̷̢̛̪̗̎̀͐̈́̆́͆͑̉̔͝m̷̝̈́̌̊̐̓͌̀̋̚ȩ̴̖̱͓̭̰͓̹͋̔͑̃͑̈́̅͂̆̂̍̄

He gets away from her-- they _all_ get away; and one stands sobbing at the door, another beside her, hands outstretched. And she feels her arm start to lift, the image of painted flowers and warmth guiding her, until that invisible hand, choked around her neck, tightens again-- and she _remembers_. Remembers that she helped kill him too, they all killed him. She snarls at them, and let's the door shut. 

And she has to make them pay for it, it's what she wants more than anything as she swings the sword down against the closed door. Again, and again, her fingers slipping around the crimson stained hilt. 

It's what she wants. It's what she's always wanted. She's _always_ been this. Rage and anger; Zuala's name on her lips and in the blood she's covered herself in, his name in her head, his eyes always there, always so golden, so mesmerising-- 

It's just her, and this thing, a beast she's never seen before, but he wanted it free, so she doesn't swing at it, she doesn't turn her ire to it. Not when it didn't kill him, not when it breaks through the barrier like nothing. 

She scoops him into her palms before she leaves, the thrum-thrum of what remains, warm against her skin. She'll bring him back. That beat doesn't stop under her sternum, it only grows faster, and faster. 

It doesn't stop her from following the thing through the rooms though, like wading through memories, two different lives before her. The images of her on the side of his killers and her at his side, taking what they want, doing as they please, killing those who cross their path. Zealously, freely, wantonly and with little care-- and his eyes, so bright, so alive, so… _everything_. 

She'll bring him back; she thinks as she makes her way through the chambers, on the heels of that thing as he tears down another door. And the bile rising in her throat, the taste of iron, of copper and metal, and the heady rush under her sternum; it isn't fear. 

~~She is afraid~~.

This is what she wants. She's always wanted this. Like the screams in her ears, the crunch of bones, brittle and easy to give under her feet, the sound of metal rending flesh. She wants it more than anything. The thrill of the hunt, of a fight, of all the voices she silenced under her blade, beside eyes so bright, so very _bright_ \-- she's always wanted it. 

~~She is afraid.~~

The last door is shut, the thing moves to tear it down and she waits, hangs back, him cradled in her palms, dripping between her fingers. Plipping against the stone, each drip an earthquake in her ears, and she stares ahead.

She's been in this hall before, she knows this place, she screws her eyes shut, holds his remains closer, curls her fingers around the last thread of energy left of him. 

~~She is afraid.~~

There's a tiefling, skin like sapphire, small curled horns nestled amongst darker hair, eyes shined like amethyst, like her own-- Holding her hands in hers, in this same hall, the rings she wears chilled against her skin, the calluses rough and the touch tender; soft. 

'W̵̎͝ͅe̷̛̩̺̊̾̀ ̴̟̊̍͗̚á̶̲̮̭l̷̝̥̋͘͠l̴̪̹̺̑̐͘͝ ̷̯͉͙̔̌͜l̵̬̾̊̄͛ö̶̡̲̙̇͛̕v̶͎̦̹̱̂e̸͚̳̓ ̶̧͙̜̊͐̎̕y̷̫͓͒́͜ö̸̰̖̞̪̐̉͠u̷̦͇̚.̵̟͐̒

And she smiled-- they smiled at her, whoever they are-- were. They looked at her, eyes purple, kind-- eyes pitiless, eyes gold, eyes a flame, eyes a _sun_ , and she stared right into it. From blue skin, to purple skin-- to his skin; a stained swathe of red, like the blood caking her hands, like the blood fresh on his as he turned to her and smiled; eyes endlessly, ever, forever so gold.

_'My Orphanmaker.'_

She holds his remains closer, the warmth still there, like a hand in hers, like someone-- something she's forgotten… or finally remembered. 

~~And she is afraid.~~

The final door gives, the rush of crisp air curls into her lungs and the flood of light a beacon she follows out; sword in one fist and him still cradled in the other. She looks up, to the sky bathed yellow, bathed vermilion, dressed in blood. 

**'A v e n g e m e.'**

~~She is terrified.~~

And she smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> I am hurty


End file.
